Can I be close to you?
by bethecake
Summary: Voldemort's corpse is barely cold and Harry is already on a seemingly endless roadtrip with his nemesis.


Sun danced across his pale milky skin as we drove through the empty roads. The hours had begun to blend together, and he couldn't remember ever feeling so peaceful, so content. The world had simply come to a hold, and it didn't matter that he was covered in blood and tears and what looked like questionable bits of a once immortal dark lord.

Even joking about it seemed like blasphemy, when only hours ago he had stared down the end of a wand and theorised what the meaning of life was. Not there was much time to theorise, mind you, but a virgin raised in a cupboard didn't have a lot going on for him, did he? And that perhaps was the biggest tragedy to him.

"Potter!" – he looked over to the blonde useless tosser next to him - "Are you still contemplating whether death will be more pleasant once you've been shagged?"

"Well of course I am, Malfoy. I did just die, didn't I?" Harry replied.

"And yet your description of it seems highly mediocre. Kings Cross station, really? And fucking Dumbledore? Why does it always have to be fucking Dumbledore? Does that old teapot really have the monopoly on wisdom? Why could it not have been Snape?" he asked.

"Yes, Snape, our new celebrity" mocked Harry. "Look I do appreciate him double agenting and all, but seriously, could he not have been somewhat nicer?"

"Potter, do you honestly appreciate his aesthetic? One can only dream about living life on the jagged edge between Dumbledore and Voldemort, while managing to conjure what would have to be the most dramatic robes in all of England."

"Stop focusing on the fashion choices of our dead potions master and pass over the map. Where are we even headed to?" scoffed Harry.

"Potter when you very much abducted me against my will and forced me into this abominable car, at no point you mentioned a fucking destination. I finally feel comfortable driving in a straight line, after 5 hours of near death and straight lines are what I am going to stick to".

Harry closed his eyes again, attempting to focus on the feeling of contention and calm. Instead, images of his friends kept dancing behind his eyes. Fred with laughter frozen on his face, Remus and Tonks as their hands struggled to cross the infinitesimal distance between them, Snape as he bore into his green eyes, seeking redemption from his dearest friend. And just when he thought he was drowning in misery and hopelessness, he felt a gentle brush against his hand. A quiet reminder that one of his final memories had been of his once hated nemesis. Against all odds, he sought Draco's face on the moment of rebirth, wanting - wishing - no needing him to be alive.

And now, hours away from all civilisation, from all well-meaning friends, he could finally breathe. He peeked through his eyelashes, drinking in the once soft blonde hair, that was now streaked in blood. Draco's hard grey eyes were narrowed in concentration, almost comically considering the most they had seen so far were a few stray sheep.

"Somehow it seems all pointless, doesn't it? Two very old, very arrogant men fighting their own war" Harry whispered.

"And in the middle, caught two very young, very arrogant men" Draco replied, looking almost surprised by his own candour.

"Do you sometimes think about what would have been different if I had shaken your hand all those years ago?"

Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I used to. I blamed everything on it, you know. I thought if you had taken my hand, maybe you could have saved me. And in the middle of it, when I needed to hate you, I blamed you for abandoning me, for leaving me to drown" – taking a shuddering breathe – "and now I realise that I was meant to save myself. I was never very good at that part, you see".

"Why are we doing this? I should be with Ron and Hermione, celebrating life, not chasing the sunset with my … whatever you are"

"And I should be with my parents, with my silly mother who defied the dark lord to save me. It's funny that it should end how it started, with the defiance of a mother".

"What do you think will happen to them?"

"Well father has enough misdeeds to last him quite a few terms in Azkaban. But somehow, gold has the tenacious tendency to make it all better, doesn't it?" Draco scoffed in disgust.

"Do you want him to go to prison?"

Draco stilled, his breath frosting the air before him. And then with the next breath, he seemed to almost deflate, "how do you expect me to answer that, Potter? He's my father, I love him. And yet, he did terrible things and he should pay for that." Draco bit his lip a few times before continuing, "Do you want me to go to prison?"

Harry pondered the question, almost lazily. "Some part of me wants to say yes, but right now it almost feels like that's because it's what I'm expected to say. I don't want you to go to Azkaban, Draco. You haven't killed anyone, and when you tried to, you were terrible at it. You were just a child, stuck on the wrong side of the mirror. And somehow miraculously, you dragged yourself out."

Draco glanced over, and his soft smile somehow eclipsing the sun and Harry knew he was in trouble.

* * *

 **A/N** : Oneshot for now, but I'm interested in following the rabbit down the rabbit hole :)


End file.
